Then Conquer We Must
by Kaikamahine Mai Hawai'i
Summary: Part of the short stories written with Bunnies, Nic, Pirate Gyrl, and greyhaven11. Entering into the holidays after a busy year of running from hitmen, Jackson and Lisa make an unexpected stop, and loose lips cause a commotion. M for language and themes.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone who's read the stories that started with "My Happy Ending"! Here's my latest attempt at this series. I've been fussing over this since about Labor Day, and had to _finally_ get something out there, because I couldn't stand it not being at least _partway_ published! This is _not_ a one-chapter story, I'll be adding more ... I just hope to get the additional chapters beta'd.

That being said, on to other part of this story that I'd like to explain. Ever since I saw Whitney Houston at Super Bowl XXV sing "The Star-Spangled Banner" (which was a long time ago, and I was a kid when it happened, so don't call me old!), I've loved learning little bits and pieces of American History. One of the things that I've learned recently, was that The Star-Spangled Banner has more than one verse. That's where the title of this story comes from --- one of the unsung verses. So, I guess I'm drawing a parallel between our national anthem and Jackson and Lisa's lives --- there's more than one verse, and the story they tell is one of struggle, suffering, and overcoming it all to stand proud and victorious after having gone though so much:

_O! thus be it ever when freemen shall stand,  
Between their lov'd home, and the war's desolation,  
Blest with vict'ry and peace, may the Heav'n rescued land,  
Praise the Power that hath made and preserv'd us a nation!  
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,  
And this be our motto -- "In God is our Trust;"_

_And the star-spangled Banner in triumph shall wave,  
O'er the Land of the Free, and the Home of the Brave_

_ - Frances Scott Key, c. 1814_

* * *

I love these types of nights; when it's just cool enough after the end of the day to put on some long sleeves and feel comfortable with the additional fabric. It's early November along the Eastern seaboard, the air here in North Carolina has cooled considerably, to a nice 56 degrees, and the heat of the day has slowly ebbed away.

I reach into yet another Cherokee that I've managed to acquire -- switching vehicles has become a habit of mine, especially since we blew our cover in Atlanta. I had gotten cocky, thinking that I'd lost the man that had been attempting to follow us for the past few days, and I made the mistake of going out to a well-known tourist area at the wrong time of day. Nobody was frequenting the place at that hour, and Lisa and I stuck out like sore thumbs; easy targets for a watchful tail. We got the hell out of Dodge and moved northward, crisscrossing back and forth along state highways, back roads, and scenic routes. Eventually, our tail was lost, and we've been able to avoid suspicion and agents for the past couple days. But I'm not risking any more lives like that again. I've got too much at stake, now.

The bell attached to the door of the combo gas station/convenience store bobbles against the glass, chirping a cheery tune, and I look up to see a familiar face. Lisa walks to the edge of the sidewalk, getting ready to step down to the recently-laid asphalt of the lane nearest the store, and stops suddenly, seeing a truck coming towards her. For a moment, I feel my heart jump into my throat, thinking that she's not going to stop in time, or that the elderly man with the "U.S. Navy Veteran" sticker in his truck's window wouldn't see her, but both fears are allayed as he slows, waving her across. Bag in one hand, water bottle in the other, Lisa waves in thanks with three fingers, and carefully crosses the lane, stopping at the truck window to thank the man for his service to the country before heading across the row of gas pumps. The man beams and seems to get a little choked up, and when I see him wipe at his eyes, I know it's been a while since he's heard a "thank you" for being a veteran.

The pump clicks to a halt. I continue casting intermittent glances toward Lisa as I remove the nozzle, set it back in its place, and twist the cap back on. Finished, I lean back against the side of the Jeep, watching her make her way back to the vehicle. She's dressed in flip-flops, shorts, and a long-sleeved jersey tee with the words "Team Edward" in black lettering. I gaze lower, at her flat stomach, knowing what she's hiding from the rest of the world. I can't believe how immensely pleased that makes me.

"You wanted the Lipton Citrus Green Tea, right?"

I snap out of my trance at her words. "Yeah, thanks." I take the bag from her while she opens her water, and move it through the open window to set it on the passenger seat. On impulse, I reach out and rest my hand on her belly. I know she hates it when I do that in public, but it's become an irresistible crave, a primal need, ever since she told me -- the need to know that my son or daughter (or God help me, a set of twins or higher), is in there. Safe, and alive.

And mine.

Ours.

A piece of her, a piece of me, combined together in something that, by the grace of God, is completely ... truly ... innocent. The knowledge that I could help to make something as pure and as untainted as a child has made my throat clamp, my chest clinch, and my eyes sting on more than one occasion. I want to let her know that. And on some level, I think she does. When she catches me staring at her, or when she feels me wrap my arm around her belly when _she thinks_ I think she's asleep at night (even though I know she's not -- she's a horrible liar), I think she knows. I just don't know if I'd ever be able to tell her. It's not that I don't want to, it's just that I can't. Every time I get ready to say something, the words seem to stick in my throat. More importantly, I'm afraid that she'll play on me going soft, which will inevitably only lead me to become even softer. When I let my emotions take control, I lose control of the situation, and people could start getting hurt.

And I'm not just saving my own ass, anymore.

Something about that has so intrinsically changed me. I'm more cognizant of my own arrogance, my own selfishness. And God knows I've been selfish. When I look back at my life up until this point, I've only ever lived for me. Everything was so black and white, I knew where the lines were drawn, and I've always been on the side that saved my ass at no matter the cost. Everything I've ever done has always been to the greater benefit of me. When I ripped Lisa from her home, I tried telling myself (and her, for that matter) that it was for her own good, but when all the layers of bullshit and talk are stripped away, even that was for me. I wanted to have Lisa, all to myself, and I justified it by pointing to the danger she'd be in if she didn't come with me.

But I can't live that life anymore. Lisa's been reading the Bible, and even talked me into reading it. As much as I can't stand to admit it, I've had a problem setting it down, some nights. I've never been much into God, or religion, or karma, or any of that crap, but ... I see my life story written in some of the passages. I can see the sinner, the murderer, the liar, the thief ... and at one point or another in my life, no matter what I say, I've played those roles. I've been those men, I've been in that situation. I'll be damned if those roles aren't hard to give up, either. They bring thrill, money, power, fame, women, and satisfaction. And once the party's over, and the last guest leaves, all you're left with is an empty room. A used, empty void. Alone. And you search for that next high, that next thrill, that next assignment, that next big paycheck, the next promotion, the next fuck ... only to end up right where you started.

And I hated that. I never felt that true sense of completion. Not to say that I've completely left it all behind, of course. But ... I'm seeing the lines being re-drawn. Everything's still in black and white, but ...

I don't know the exact words, and I sure as hell couldn't tell you the book or chapter if you asked. The very least I could do would be to say it's the New Testament. At least, I think it is. Whichever Testament that Jesus shows up in. There was an underlying theme running through the text that struck me, someplace deep inside. If it's still there, I'd say it hit my soul. _You must lose your life before you can gain it back again._ I struggled with that for days, nights, a week. I thought I knew what it meant, but I kept wanting to deny what I thought it was, because it would be such a bitter pill to swallow.

Finally, I had to break down and ask Lisa about it; I couldn't stand the turmoil any longer. As it turned out, I was right. _You must lose your life before you can gain it back again._ I'd have to give it all up, everything. I'd need to sever my ties to my old life, get out of the continuous lifestyle of blood money, assassination, sex, treason, and conspiracy. As simple of a choice it should seem to make, I ached over it. All of those things benefited me. I was the one who got to reap the rewards of renown, sex, and exorbitant amounts of money; and they were all great things to have. But when those things are gone, when all I've got left are the clothes on my back and the people I care about, I come up seriously fucking lacking. I would have to die to that old life, before I can gain a real life. I had to figure out what was more important: my lifestyle of luxury, espionage, mystique and murder ... or running from my company, with Lisa. Either way, I was still catering to my own selfishness.

So, that night, on the outskirts of a little po-dunk town in New Mexico, at a nondescript motel off a dusty highway, with Lisa sleeping soundly in the room, I went out to the balcony and cried out to God. I literally cried. The last time I cried was when my dog got hit by a car when I was 7. But that night, on the balcony, sitting on the poor excuse for a chair that the motel had, I cried, great big gulping sobs while I sat, hunched over with my face in my hands and my elbows on my knees. I was sick of it. All of the pretense, the running, the empty void, the ... the inefficiency and utter pointlessness of it all. I begged, if there was a God, and if He was real, and He cared about us as much as that thick book of Lisa's with the gold-rimmed pages and red letters said He did ... show me. Give me a sign. I needed to know that there was something worth dying for, and more importantly, something worth living for. I was willing to do the whole 'lose your life and gain it back' deal, as long as I knew it would be worth the effort.

And that's when I found God.

It's cliche, I know. I would love to be able to call it a strike of coincidence, or point to odds and mathematical figures, but if I were to dig down deep and give my honest answer, I don't believe in luck or chance, anymore. I believe in divinity. A week after my own little come-to-Jesus moment, I was sitting in a historic inn in Boston, holding and rocking Lisa while she sobbed and hiccuped, drenching my shirt with her tears. She was pregnant. The one and only time I didn't use a condom with her, the first time, after that impromptu dance in the middle of nowhere ... and she was pregnant.

Suddenly, it wasn't about me anymore. It wasn't about what I wanted, or what I craved. All the things that I thought were important suddenly seemed insignificant. I no longer have an occupation in life, I have a _purpose_.

_I'm going to be somebody's father_.

My life is going to change, but I don't care about the inconvenience it'll cause for me. My needs and wants are secondary. I've got Lisa and my unborn kid to think about, now. _They_ are what are important to me. And if I truly have to lose my life so that another can be gained, my kid's life or Lisa's, or both, then I'm willing to protect them at _any_ cost.

-

-

-

I flinch and quickly lower my water bottle when I feel him touching my stomach. He's been doing that a lot lately, and I still haven't overcome my self-consciousness about it. I haven't felt that "maternal swell of pride" that I've been reading about, when he does that, especially in public. I just feel fat. Fat and awkward. My pants are getting snug, and my shirts are doing nothing to hide the fact that I'm beginning to look like a walrus. Of course, Jackson thinks I'm over-exaggerating when it comes to my impression of myself. I've been surprised to find out he's on the other end of that spectrum; if anything, he's put me up on a pedestal. Even when I can't stand the sight of myself, he tells me ... he ... God, I can't even recall it without getting teary-eyed.

He told me that I've never looked more beautiful than I look now, even with the emotional outbursts and the clothes that I'm starting to outgrow ... because I'm doing the most beautiful thing he can imagine - giving him a reason to change who he is and become a better person, for himself, for me, and the baby.

It had been a particularly hormonal day when he told me that, so of course, I immediately started bawling my eyes out.

He's been changing recently. I don't know what it is about him, there's just ... there's something _different_. I had picked up a Bible from my grandmother's house when Jackson took me back to collect some of the items she had willed to me. I started reading it, and I guess you could say I'm starting to become a follower. I wouldn't call myself a Christian just yet; I haven't been baptized since I was little. Maybe someday, when I get all of this Jesus and God stuff figured out, I'll go to get baptized again, if I make that choice. Maybe that's what's changing Jackson? He's been reading it -- out of curiosity, I had assumed -- so, maybe he's starting to change his thinking habits and vision of things, too?

"When do you think I'll be able to feel Peanut move?" His voice is low, but able to be heard over the noise of the gas station. "You're three months now, right? I'd think it should be about that time." He's added his other hand to my belly, both of them trying to feel what he claims is the nonexistent swell underneath my too-thin shirt. I grab his wrists and know my cheeks are flaming with embarrassment.

"Would you stop _doing that_, Jackson!?" His eyes meet mine, and I can see the mischief lurking in their glacial depths. I hope the baby gets his eyes. "And stop calling it Peanut, that's not a name!"

He rolls his eyes and moves his hands off of my body reluctantly, pulling himself from my grip as he leans back against the SUV again. "Yeah, well, _It_ isn't really a name either. At least Peanut is a nickname." He had begun calling the baby Peanut when the doctor had been doing the ultrasound, informing us that the baby was healthy and was growing normally, and was already the size of a peanut. So, for the past few weeks, the name had stuck.

"Yeah, well, if we don't want to name the baby _It_ or _Peanut_, we need to come up with some names soon." I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered as the breeze picked up. Jackson reached into the Jeep and grabbed the zip-up hoodie that one of us had carelessly discarded during the warmer hours of the day.

"Here, let's get this on you," he said, wrapping the jacket around my shoulders. "It's going to get colder than this tonight, so you're going to want something a bit warmer than that thin little shirt you've got on." As I pushed my arms through the sleeves, he leaned forward slightly, connecting both sides of the zipper down at the bottom, and pulling it up a few inches. While I was pushing up the sleeves, he stole the opportunity to quickly bend down, kiss my belly, and then zipped up the jacket as fast as humanly possible. I glared daggers at him, but he merely gave me that cocky wink, the same one he'd given the stewardess on the plane after our bathroom encounter -- boy, did that seem like a lifetime ago -- and gave me a quick peck on the forehead.

I'll have to break his hand when I'm in labor just to get back at that cocky son of a bitch.

-

-

-

It's too warm for snow as far south as we are now, but still, with Thanksgiving only a few days away, it'd be nice to see some. I had kept us moving, never staying too long in one place. I know I can't keep doing this forever. Sooner or later, I'm going to have to face the music where my ex-employers are concerned, and settle a score, one way or another, so that we can stop running. Running's only going to get more difficult as Leese keeps growing. Well, technically, it's the baby that's growing, but her increased size would be a by-product, I suppose.

When I steal a glance over to her sleeping form, I can't even tell she's pregnant. With the sweatpants and jacket that she ended up changing into, her curves are softened, and to the untrained eye, it's difficult to tell if she's gotten any bigger. Good. Hopefully that'll help the situation for the next stop we have to make.

By the time she wakes up, we're only fifteen minutes away from our destination. She had slept so soundly that she hadn't woken up when I had used one of her scarves as a makeshift blindfold and slipped it over her eyes. It was a bitch to convince her to keep it there.

"Why can't I know where we're going, Jackson?"

I roll my eyes as I brake slightly to turn down a street that I know embarrassingly well. "If I were to let you see, then it wouldn't be a surprise. That would negate half the reason for us going there." I wish she would stop asking questions, but isn't there a saying that's along the lines of 'shit in one hand, wish in the other, see which gets filled first'? "Anyway, we're almost there. About another minute or so." I turn the windshield wipers down, as trees lining the road have sheltered the car from the majority of the rain, which had thankfully slacked off to an annoying November evening drizzle. I turned to gaze at the expression on her face. The corner of her bottom lip was pinned helplessly between her teeth, a sure sign of her anxiety.

I hit the bump of the curb a little harder than I had intended, causing the car to rock slightly. After pulling forward a little further, I put the car in park, shutting off the engine. Lisa grabbed for her blindfold, but I quickly caught her hands and held them down in her lap. "Ah, not just yet." I glanced at the building in front of us, seeing movement at the door. A man exits, holding his hand over his eyes in a skewed salute to shield his vision from the rain as he tries to peer into the car. "Okay, Leese. I want you to see your surprise for Thanksgiving." I pull the blindfold off.

For a few seconds, she blinks against the light, and rubs carefully at her eyes. Then, she takes in her surroundings. For a moment, I can tell she's confused, but as she begins to fit the puzzle pieces together, realization spreads across her face. "So ... Happy Thanksgiving, Lisa." She gives me a look of wide-eyed surprise, before the man approaches the driveway and stands cautiously in front of the car.

"Is there something I can help you folks with? Are you two lost?" he asks, the sound of his voice muffled, but understandable, through the steel and glass surrounding us. Lisa's eyes jerk toward the figure, and she opens her door, leaning out on one foot.

"Oh my God ... Dad?"

-

-

-

_Who gives Thanksgiving presents?_

For a moment, I had a sinking feeling that he had taken me to a stupid tourist attraction, like the World's Largest Ball of Dryer Lint, or something. But, as soon as the blindfold comes off and my eyes adjust to the light, I know that he's taken me someplace much, much better. The landscaping comes into focus, and I feel a delayed recognition. I try to look at him, to give him a verbal response, but I'm so shocked that I can't even get anything out. And he has that smile on his face. The real one, where his whole face lights up and softens, and I can instantly tell that he's happy.

And that's when I saw him. I open my door and begin to step out. "Oh my God ... Dad?" _Please be real, please be real._ The man freezes and stares hard at me. I know that look. I vaguely remember to shut the car door as I propel myself around the door and toward my father. "Daddy!?"

"Lisa? Oh Jesus, Leese, is that you?" Even as he asks it, his arms are opening, awaiting me.

I don't wait for any further invitation. I jump into my dad's arms, wrapping my own around his neck as he closes his embrace around me. Instantly, I'm sobbing, and I can't blame it on the hormones. This is legit. I'm home. Jackson brought me _home_ for Thanksgiving.

"God, Lisa! I've been looking all over the place for you! You just disa- ... I never knew where you ... where've you been!?"

I start to open my mouth to explain, but Jackson beats me to it. "I've been keeping her safe for a while, Joe."

I let go of my father and look toward Jackson. He has a dewy halo of drizzle on his shirt and in his hair, a half-smile still plays across his lips, and his hands are in his pockets ... one of his tell-tale signs of feeling awkward and left out. If he could ever be described as such, I'd say he looked sheepish.

_He __brought me **home** for Thanksgiving__._

I caught him off-guard when I launched myself at him, giving him the same treatment as I did my father. He stumbles back a step or two, trying to yank his hands out of his pockets fast enough to grab the car to balance himself. After a second, his arms wrap around my back, one at my waist, one at my shoulders. How does one thank someone for bringing them home for Thanksgiving? I give him the only thanks I can come up with.

"Thank you, Jackson," I whispered against his neck, not trusting my tear-choked voice to be successful at a louder decibel. "Thank you ... for bringing me home!" His arms tighten around me, squeezing in acknowledgment before loosening again.

"Go see your dad, Leese," he whispers, looking past me, toward my dad.

My dad still looks as shocked as I feel. I guess, after not having seen your only daughter for so long, one would be. With that thought, I subconsciously touch my stomach. Shit. This one would be hard to explain, if we tell him at all. I'm not sure what information about the events after my disappearance is safe to divulge. I don't want to endanger my dad with knowledge about our life on the run that could come back to bite him in the ass.

"So," I manage, feeling every bit as awkward as Jackson had looked, "should we go inside, out of the rain?" Dad nods and Jackson's already locking the car.

-

-

-

The elder Reisert's house isn't exactly as I had remembered it. The renovation had been completed, and the decorations and furniture had been set in their proper places. Apparently, my blood stains from the last time I had entered Joe's house hadn't proved irreversibly damaging to the hardwood flooring.

"So, Lisa ... are you back, for good?"

Lisa looks back at me from her position on the bar stool at the island in the kitchen, her gaze questioning.

"Probably not for good, Joe. Not just yet." I can understand the anger and disappointment that I can see building within him, and I definitely don't blame the man. "But I thought she should be home for at least one holiday, this year. If things stay quiet, she'll be able to stay until at least Thanksgiving."

Leese immediately scrunched up her face in confusion. "What do you mean, 'I'll be able to stay'? You're _leaving_ me here by _myself_? You're not staying, too?" She quickly turned back to Joe. "Dad, let him use the spare bedroom. If nothing else, at least the fold-out couch." She's fighting my battle for me? "Don't make him leave, Dad. He's kept me alive for this long, just-" Oh, she's got that begging face on. "Please."

Joe crumbled like a dried-out sandcastle.

"Fine." He fixed me with an uncertain look. "He can have the room across the hall from yours."

"I thought that was going to be your office?" Lisa questioned.

Joe shook his head. "Couldn't get around to keeping myself in an office that was right across the way from your old room. Especially since you-" he paused, shrugging. "I just use the den. It works." He suddenly turned his eyes towards me. "Now, before we go any further, you're going to explain to me exactly what the hell happened that necessitated the kidnapping of my daughter. And after that, you're going to explain to me why I shouldn't murder you." Shit. He looks angry.

Lisa begins, "Dad, look, I-"

"No, Lisa," Joe quickly interrupted, immediately silencing her. "I want to hear it from _him_."

The way he said 'him' lets me know just how welcome I am in his house. Not at all. "I assume you saw the bullets through her apartment?" I asked. He gives me a nod, and gets a weird expression on his face.

"Lisa, honey ... tell me you didn't get hurt," he pleaded. Lisa shook her head, giving him a forced smile.

"No. I-" she paused, looking at me, "Jackson got me out of there in time. It was his old company that he worked for. They've been trying to get ahold of us for a while now. They apparently think there's some bad blood between us and them."

"Who's us?" Joe asked. Lisa gestured between the two of us.

"Me and Jackson. They didn't take too kindly to me screwing up one of their jobs, or to Jackson letting it happen."

Joe shifted his attention back to me. He didn't look any more thrilled at the prospect of me being in his house than he was before. "So you decided to kidnap her and hold her against her will-"

"Dad!" Lisa's voice was calm, but firm. "Dad, look," she paused, looking at her hands, before giving me a quick glance. "I know that it must've been hard for you ... all these months, not knowing where I was, or if I was alive, or-" she cuts herself off, and I get the feeling that she's saying this more for my benefit than her father's. "It was hard to be away from you, too, Dad. But it was in everybody's best interest that things happened the way they did." She looked over at me, giving me a knowing smile. I couldn't help but to grin back at her, giving a quick glance down to her belly. Things definitely turned out well for me. "Besides, Jackson made sure that I stayed out of harm's way." She tried biting back a smile. "Well ... mostly." Another concerned look from Joe. "But, he brought me home, in one piece."

Joe was silent for a few moments. He stared at his hands, on the counter in front of him, his fingers interlocking and moving aimlessly, as if they were wrestling with whatever thoughts he was battling in his head. After a few more moments, he stood. With great care, he walked around the counter and wrapped his arms around Lisa, pulling him against his chest, and buried his face against the top of her head. "Welcome home, baby," he choked out, stroking her hair. "Welcome home."

-

-

-

I stood at the foot of the bed, staring at the bookshelf-turned-trophy-shelf on the opposite wall. I hadn't had the time to take things in last time I was in here, not with Lisa battering me with her field hockey stick.

Behind me, I heard a shampoo bottle drop, and turned to see Lisa emptying the contents of one of her suitcases onto her bed, items spilling out everywhere. She was in a hurry to get unpacked, apparently, and was haphazardly reorganizing her belongings. I reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her. She seemed to notice, for the first time, that I was in the room.

"What's wrong?" I asked. I watched her shake her head and avert her eyes. "What are you nervous about, then?"

"I'm not nervous," she answered quickly. "Who said I'm nervous?" Really bad liar.

I watched her for a few more moments before gathering her toiletries and moving them into the adjoining bathroom. In there, unfamiliar bottles of shampoo and conditioner stood neatly in a shower caddy, along with a yellow loofah. Pieces of Lisa's life prior to moving out of her father's house. Prior to me. The thought temporarily angered me, but it passed as quickly as it came, and I set all the items in the right places before heading back into her room. She was still busily unpacking, hanging clothes in the closet, folding pants and skirts into neat piles in drawers. Something in her closet caught my eye, and I had to bite back a laugh.

With Lisa flitting around the room like a hummingbird, I reached into the closet, wrapped my fingers around the long field hockey stick, and pulled it out of its resting place, holding in front of me like a bat. I appraised it carefully, remembering how lethally she had wielded it.

"Not that thing, again?"

I looked up when she spoke, moving past me to hang up the last few sweatshirts. She quickly jabbed the hangers into the necks of the shirts before hanging them back up on the rack, three at a time. She tried to move out of the closet, but I blocked her, placing my body between hers and the bedroom.

"Seriously, Leese ... what's wrong?" She rolled her eyes at me. "I'm not letting up on this until you tell me. Is it your dad? Is it being here? Come on, Lisa, tell me."

"I'm _fine_, now if you don't stop asking, I'll be forced to do a reenactment of the last time you were in here!"

I smirked at her, thinking of how I had shoved her against the door and ripped the field hockey stick out of her hands. The idea was enticingly erotic, now.

"Everything okay in here?" Joe called, rapping lightly against the bedroom door frame. Lisa gave me a glare and shoved me out of the way.

"Yeah, Dad. Just hanging up some clothes."

I followed Lisa and shoved my hands in my pockets, trying to look as harmless as possible for her father. I had the feeling that he and I would be butting heads like rams over the next few days. When he gave me that disapproving sneer he had managed to give me four times since we had arrived, I simply shrugged my shoulders at him.

"Dad, does Jackson's room have blankets and pillows and everything?"

"_The room Jackson will be staying in_ does, yes." Joe replied, making sure I got the hint. Not my room. Just the room I'm staying in. Gotcha, Joe.

"Dad, please don't start this," Lisa moaned tiredly. "I don't want anything but good memories about the short amount of time we're going to spend here. Please, both of you-" she looked between the two of us, "get along. For my sake, if nothing else. Dad, I know you've got your axe to grind about Jackson, and Jackson, I'm sure you're probably thinking the same thing, but please ... call a timeout for the next couple of days, okay?"

If Lisa wanted me to get along with her dad, which I had so far, then that was fine with me. It was only for a few days. And it was the holiday season, so ...

"Joe, you've got my word, I'm going to be a complete gentleman in every area of concern while I'm staying in your house. I might not like doing it, but ... I'll do it."

Lisa looked expectantly at her father. Joe simply glared at me, before turning and fixing a softer gaze on Lisa.

"I'm going to bed. Try not to stay up too late," he managed. Lisa's face fell as she realized that was all she was going to get from her dad. It wasn't quite a ceasefire, but it was all he was going to offer. He glared at me again. "I'm a light sleeper." With that, he turned and headed toward his room.

"Yeah, well, I'm really good at sneaking through your house, too," I mumbled at the empty spot he had vacated. I felt Lisa's hands laying gently against my chest.

"Thank you," she said softly, standing on her toes and pecking me on the lips. I pulled my hands out of my pockets and wrapped them around her waist, pulling her against me as I leaned down and kissed her back quickly.

"For what?"

"Being the bigger person."

I smiled against her lips, loving the way her words made me feel. Before I could get either of us involved any further, I headed for the door. "I'll sneak back over here after Joe's asleep," I whispered, giving her a smirk and closing the door behind me.

-

-

-

I could hear my dad snoring from his room further down the hallway. It was nearly midnight, and I had been waiting for Jackson to make good on his promise.

It felt weird, being back in my old bed. The room was just the same as it had been the day of the Keefe incident, with my recent additions aside. I had put religious devotion into unpacking my suitcases, in an attempt to avoid the 800-pound gorilla in the room. Jackson had picked up on my mood immediately, though, and vowed to keep pestering me about it until I caved and told him what's wrong.

I stared back at the ceiling again, waiting to hear the jiggle of the door handle that would signal Jackson's arrival. Instead, I heard the settling of the house, and faint noises from outside, a dog barking somewhere down the street.

When the shadow entered my room, I nearly screamed. The shadow froze, holding a finger to its lips, and I realized it was Jackson. He **_was_** good about sneaking through the house. He made his way to my bed, and leaned over to kiss my forehead. "It's just me," he whispered, before sitting on the edge of the mattress.

"You couldn't have at least rattled the door handle before coming in? Given me some warning?"

"I tried your bedroom door, you've got it locked. Old habits die hard, huh? I came in through the bathroom."

I had forgotten that I locked the door. It had become second nature to lock doors after all the running and hiding we've been doing. I guess I had inadvertently locked Jackson out. If he had been determined, with no other way in, he would've picked the lock, somehow. Luckily, I'd forgotten the bathroom doors.

"So, are you going to tell me what your issue was earlier tonight? Do I have to torture it out of you?" His eyes held a mischievous glint, but his hand was warm and gentle as it caressed the side of my face.

"You know what my issue is," I mumbled, turning my cheek toward his inviting palm. He turned his body slightly, squinting as the moonlight suddenly fell upon his face. It gave him an eerie glow. It reminded me of that night in that little inn in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi, when the lights had gone out and we'd had our first kiss. I'd barely slept a wink that night, watching the moonlight filter through the window and onto his face. God, that seemed like a lifetime ago.

He put his other hand against my abdomen, his fingers sprawling over the light t-shirt I wore. His look was questioning, and I nodded. Yep, _that_ was my issue. He sighed, his thumb stroking my cheek.

"We don't have to tell him if you're not ready, Leese. We can wait a while. It doesn't have to be now." Why did he have to be the understanding one? Why wasn't that my job, anymore?

"It _does_, Jackson. I have to tell him, while we're here. Who knows when I'll get another opportunity to come back here? For all we know, they could be following-" As soon as I spoke it, the feeling of dread crashed over me again, quickly accompanied by panic and terror. I sat up so quickly that Jackson flinched in surprise.

Had he not grabbed my arms and held me in place, I would've been up and dressed and repacking. Luckily, though, he was able to discern my thoughts and got a grip on my arms, anchoring me in place.

"They're not follow-...Leese?" He placed his hands on either side of my face, turning it toward his own, making sure he had my attention. "They're not following us. I mean ... I'm sure they're _following_ us, but they have no clue we're _here_. They're weeks behind us."

"But what if they find out that we've been here? We just put my dad in danger-"

"They won't come here."

"You can't be sure."

"I'll end it before then." He said the words with such absolute certainty that it left no room for disbelief.

"What do you mean?" I was afraid of what his answer would be.

"I'm not going to keep making you run like this, Lisa." His eyes held a hint of sorrow in them. "You and I both know, that, in a few more weeks, it's going to be harder to keep this up, what with the pregnancy, and Christmas, and holiday traffic, the whole nine yards. It's just not going to work. At least, not without sacrifice."

I felt myself steel with resolve. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep my dad safe."

His words were just as strong. "And _I'll_ do whatever it takes to keep _you and the baby_ safe. We're not running anymore. If we keep running, the stress or physical fatigue or, God forbid, something worse ... will cause you to lose the baby. You and I both know that." My hand reached for my stomach, feeling the bump underneath the shirt. Suddenly, it didn't make me feel fat and hideous. The thought of losing the baby ... especially after the horrible decision I'd nearly made weeks ago ...

I shuddered, and Jackson pulled me against him. "I'm not losing _either one_ of you, you got that? I'm keeping you and Peanut safe." I rolled my eyes and groaned.

"He, or she, is _not_ Peanut!" I felt the short laugh rumble in his chest. I sighed, letting him hold me, feeling the heat radiate from his body. "Tomorrow," I finally mumbled.

"Tomorrow what?"

"Tomorrow I-" I swallowed against the lump in my throat. Tomorrow I'd need nerves of steel, I should say. "Tomorrow I'll tell him." I pulled back enough to look at his expression. "Tomorrow I'll tell my dad about the baby."

"No." Jackson shook his head. "Tomorrow, _we'll_ tell your dad about the baby."

I gave him what I hoped was a smile, but I had a feeling it turned out to be a grimace. "No offense, Jackson, but ... I have a feeling my dad's not going to take it too well, and he'll probably take it even worse if you're the one that tells him."

"So, what, am I supposed to tuck my tail between my legs and hide, while you tell him all by yourself? Nuh-uh. Not going to happen."

He could be stubborn, sometimes. "Look, let me just ... if you want to be there, that's fine. Maybe just, be a bit on the quieter side while I tell him?" When I see his features relax, I know we've come to some sort of a compromise.

"Sounds reasonable enough." He pauses before a mischievous smirk crosses his face. "I want to be there just to see the look on his face, if nothing else."


	2. Chapter 2

When I feel consciousness slowly drifting back, I realize that I'm not hearing another hotel room air conditioning unit humming next to the bed. I peel my eyes open and realize that there's not another body lying next to me, either. What the-

I snap up into a sitting position, and suddenly realize where I am. Lisa's father's house. The thought of her dad makes me cringe, but the adrenaline rush of finally sharing our news with _somebody_ overrides that feeling. A glance at the clock tells me that it's already 9:36. Shit! I hope she hasn't already told him!

I pull on a pair of sweatpants over the boxers that I had worn - out of recently-acquired habit - and rifled through my suitcase for the hoodie I remembered seeing the night before. I quickly yanked it over my head and pulled the door open, nearly running into Joe, who had a paper and a mug of coffee in his hands. I froze, realizing I wasn't giving him the best impression I could, first thing in the morning. He stops, too, looking me over once.

"You woke up in your own room. Hmm. I honestly thought you'd be in Lisa's." His words are all but accusatory, with disdain dripping from each syllable.

I swallowed once, louder than I had intended. "I woke up in the room _I'm staying in_, not my room," I corrected, remembering the showdown from last night. "Is Lisa already up?"

"She's getting dressed, I think," Joe replied slowly. I nodded once and shuffled back into the room, closing the door behind me until I was sure Joe had made his way back downstairs. When the coast was clear, I opened the door again, sprinted the two steps to Lisa's door, and opened it carefully.

Inside her room, I could smell the faint scent of her soap and conditioner. Her bed was unmade, her suitcase was on the floor, and the door to her bathroom was open. I shut the bedroom door and walked to the bathroom, seeing Lisa standing at the sink, wearing one of my shirts and a pair of shorts, while brushing her teeth.

"Did you get into a fight in the middle of the night that I don't know about?" she mumbled around her toothbrush. I took a look in the mirror, seeing my reflection for the first time that day. My hair stood out at odd angles, my eyes were still puffy from sleeping, and a shadowy red-brown stubble dotted my jawline and neck. "I'd say you've got the sexy-sleep-tussled look going on, but ... you really don't," she laughed, spitting into the sink.

I moved behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her against me. "And I've probably got a God-awful case of morning breath, too," I whispered against her neck, inhaling the scent of her still-wet hair, infused with the aroma of the Suave she had used. She giggled, and I looked at the reflection in the mirror ... the two of us, both still in our pajamas, me looking like I'd just had an all-night bender, and Lisa freshly-showered.

I could see that image every morning for the rest of my life and not get tired of it.

"Big day, today, Leese," I whispered. I watched her expression fall as she raised her eyes to meet mine in the mirror. "Like I said last night ... don't have to do this today, if you don't want to. Don't pressure yourself into it." I rested my chin on her shoulder, watching her face as I swayed the both of us back and forth lightly, absentmindedly.

"I might not have another chance, Jackson." She looked down as she put her toothbrush back in its holder, her hands trembling lightly. "And I don't want to come back after the baby's born ... after this is all over ... and introduce him to a grandchild he never knew about. That wouldn't be fair to him."

Lisa. Always the people-pleaser.

"Today it is, then." I felt adrenaline surging through my system again. It was comparable to going up the first lift hill of a rollercoaster, not knowing what you've gotten yourself into, thinking you're crazy, but knowing that there was no turning back. "Just let me know when you want to tell him."

-

-

-

I couldn't believe my dad wasn't going to have Thanksgiving this year.

Jackson and I had showered and dressed ourselves, then headed downstairs so that I could fix breakfast for everyone. When I opened up the refrigerator, the freezer, and the pantry, his shelves were guiltily bare.

"What do you mean? How could you not do anything for Thanksgiving?! You always do something for Thanksgiving! Even if it's just you here!"

My dad just shrugged his shoulders. "Wasn't much to celebrate this year, I s'pose."

_That_ got me mad. I was about to launch into a tirade when I felt Jackson's hand at the base of my back, seemingly just a small touch as he moved past me to flip the French toast I had all but forgotten about. When I looked up at him, he gave me a warning look. Today wasn't the day to upset my dad. Not when I was going to flip his world upside down, anyway. I sighed and leaned against the counter.

"Dad ..." I had to word this correctly. "How about this ... I'll go through the paper, cut some coupons, and we'll all go to store and get stuff for Thanksgiving dinner, okay? It's only Tuesday, so I'm sure there's still going to be _something_ left on the shelves. If there's not any turkey left, we'll get a ham, or a goose, or ... or ... whatever other type of fowl they've got. I'll work on the meal, and we'll have a normal Thanksgiving dinner just like we used to."

One side of his mouth quirked up, lifting into a slight smile. "As long as you're here, Lisa, honey ... that sounds good to me."

-

-

-

In between bites of French toast and bacon, and sips of orange juice, I flipped through the ads of the local paper, cut out coupons, and went through the old recipe book. Jackson washed dishes and received a few more glares from my dad, while I jotted down notes on a small tablet of paper next to the recipe book.

"So, what's cookin', good lookin'?" I nearly jumped when I heard Jackson's voice so close to my ear. I reached back and smacked him lightly, thankful that my dad had gone to check the _Local on the 8's_ on The Weather Channel.

"You smell like syrup and coffee."

"In a good way, or bad way?" he asked, laughing as he pulled up the stool next to me. His scent was intoxicating. I'd make him breakfast every day for the rest of our lives if he smelled that good.

"I haven't decided, yet." I slid my notes over so that he could take a look. "There. What do you think of that list?"

"Hmm ... turkey, stuffing, green bean casser-...there's cream of mushroom soup in green bean casserole? Huh, never knew. Green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, wine, sparkling cider, champagne, rolls, and gravy mix." He nodded, looking over the list appreciatively. "One thing missing."

I tilted my head towards him to indicate that I was listening, as I continued browsing the recipe book. "Hmm? What's that?"

"Sweet potatoes. Can't have a Thanksgiving dinner without sweet potatoes with a maple-brown sugar sauce and mini marshmallows." The look on his face was priceless, like a kid in toy store before Christmas. I couldn't help but laugh.

"You're going to make that one, then."

He leaned close, his face inches from mine. "I'll make that, and the mashed potatoes, and you can can show me how to make whatever else we need." He closed the space between us, finally pressing his lips against mine. The sweet taste of French toast, syrup, and coffee mixed with his own intrinsic flavor that was utterly Jackson, and for a moment, his playful kiss wiped my worries away.

-

-

-

"Lisa, honey? Which can of green beans do you want? The Del Monte kind, or the store brand?"

Lisa look up from her shopping list as her dad held up two nearly-identically-sized cans of green beans.

"Uh ... just get the store brand. It's cheaper and bigger." She turned her attention back to the list. "Okay, I think the cranberry sauce is in this aisle, too. Jackson, will you go get three cans of cranberry sauce? Oh! Dad, will you take a look at the prices on their turkeys and hams in the frozen food section, they shoul-"

Lisa's voice faded as I made my way down the aisle, scanning the shelves for the familiar Ocean Spray logo. Since Lisa had appointed herself Grand Marshall of Christmas dinner, Joe and I were at her mercy. Thankfully, being ordered around by Lisa had the advantage of keeping me and Joe from clashing.

I quickly found the cranberry sauce, pulling three cans from the shelf. The cart rattled closer as Lisa moved down the aisle, her sneakers squeaking against the waxed floors. I felt her arm wrap around my waist as she moved behind me, setting the cart a few feet away.

"What kind did you get?" I held the cans up to let her see the familiar blue and white wave logo. "Mmm ... my favorite kind," she mused, wrapping her other arm around my waist, too, hugging me from behind. "Now that I've managed to get us away from my dad for a few minutes, I need to ask you something."

I turned around, tossed the cans in the cart, and wrapped my arms around her shoulders, returning the hug. "Ask me anything you want, Lisa."

A stormy expression crossed her face. "Do you think my dad's going to hate me?" She got that little pucker between her eyebrows as she frowned. "When I tell him about ... when I tell him that I-" She sucked in a quick breath, and I saw her eyes well up. I gave her a moment to collect herself, knowing how she hated being coddled when she was crying, and fighting my instinct to do just that. "Do you?" she finally finished.

I hugged her close, resting my chin on the top of her head, and closed my eyes. Of all the things to worry about!

"Leese ... I don't know your dad all that well. But, from what I do know of him, he's fiercely overprotective, and any father that spends that much time worrying about his daughter doesn't do so unless he's got a really strong love for her." I tried to imagine what that kind of unconditional love for a child would feel like, but knew I'd most likely experience it in a few months. "He's probably going to be upset. And I would bet nearly anything that the main reason that he'd be upset doesn't have anything to do with you; it would be because of me. Any animosity he'd feel would probably be because I'm the one that got you pregnant. You could have picked any other man to have a kid with, and you happened to choose the one that tried to hurt his little girl. That's going to sting, for him." The more I thought about it, the more I realized that he wouldn't be mad at Lisa at all. He'd be infuriated with me, though.

"I just feel like I've let him down, you know what I mean? Here I am, his only kid, and I've been given the world on a platter as far as he's concerned, and I just threw it all away for-" She quickly cut herself off as I winced. Her head pulled back, and she gave me a horrified look. "Oh God, Jackson! I'm so sorry! That's not what I meant!"

I sighed, feeling the pain ebbing away. "What? You don't think you didn't hit the nail on the head? Lisa, that's exactly how your dad's going to see it. He's going to see you tossing away every opportunity for a better life, a more fulfilling career, and a Mr. Right ... so that you could be with some low-life scum that arranges people's untimely demises." I watched her face scrunch up. "Face the music, Leese. Until I prove to him otherwise, I'm exactly that."

-

-

-

I hadn't even bothered with the price for a goose when I saw that there were still some smaller turkeys left. The price per pound wasn't bad, and I headed back to ask Lisa what size of a turkey she thought we'd eat. Heaven knows that the only thing I do with a certain finesse at the holiday dinners is carving the turkey ... and call out the football scores. Okay, and I'm pretty good at popping open a bottle of champagne, but last year, I nearly hit the window with the cork, and we liked to have never found the damn thing.

I rounded the corner to the canned goods aisle when I saw it.

Him.

_Them._

This was _not_ happening. There was no way that they were standing there, in each others' arms, looking into the other person's eyes-... NO! Lisa, _my_ Lisa ... she was smarter than that. Just because he's not dressed like a cold-blooded killer, just because he's standing there in a pair of Converse sneakers, with a faded pair of jeans and a polo shirt, instead of that business suit he had on yesterday ... that doesn't change who he is. I know she's not falling for it. And yet ... and _yet_ ... there she is, staring into his eyes, having a civil conversation with him, while he holds her like they've been an item for a while.

She looks down the aisle then, sees me, and her face falls. She knows I'm angry about this. She knows how I can't _stand_ that murderer. He's in _my_ house, sleeping in one of _m_y rooms, across the hall from _my_ daughter!

"Daddy ..." She knows she's busted. This conversation will have to wait for the ride home, if I can manage to drive and not kill the bastard at the same time.

"What size turkey do we need, Lisa?"

-

-

-

While we loaded groceries into the trunk, I kept trying to gauge my dad's reaction. The look on his face when he saw me and Jackson in the aisle ... he must've turned four different shades of red.

Now, as we drove home in silence, save for the sounds of the rain falling on the car and the windshield wipers slipping back and forth across the windshield, the atmosphere had turned heavy with pent-up aggression. I stole a quick glance into the sideview mirror to see Jackson's face. He was looking out the window, seemingly miles from all of this.

The car bumped up over the curb, jostling everyone slightly. I felt the aching need to bolt from the car, to get away from the anger that crackled in the air. Dad shut the car off, pausing for a moment. I waited to hear what he was going to say. Almost anything was better than this cold shoulder routine. Instead, he flung his door open, then slammed it behind him as he made his way to the trunk. I glanced in the mirror again at Jackson. He simply shrugged, and opened his own door.

Jackson and I made our way back to the trunk, waiting for my dad to move out of the way before grabbing our own share of the bags. When it seemed he was done, Jackson reached into the trunk to grab the turkey.

"Don't ... touch ... _anything_," my dad growled. Jackson stared at him, waiting for the ensuing fight, but Dad just averted his eyes.

"Why don't you just get it off your chest, Joe?" Jackson finally asked, leaning against the car, ignoring the rain-slicked paint job. "At least, then, I'll know exactly why you're giving us the silent treatment, instead of having to draw my own conclusions."

Dad suddenly threw his bags into the yard, the cans landing, thankfully, with a wet squish in the soggy grass.

"You want to know what my problem is? Fine!" He stuck his finger in Jackson's chest, the force causing Jackson to jerk back a little. I immediately felt panic rising inside of me. Nobody did that to Jackson without a consequence. "_You_ are my problem!" For his part, Jackson remained still and calm. "From the moment you came into our lives, you've done nothing but rip our existence to pieces!"

"Dad, please don't! I thought we agreed to have a nice Thanksgiving without any fights-"

"No, Lisa!" he suddenly shouted at me, causing me to jump. "_You_ agreed to it! I didn't agree to _anything_!" Jackson put his arm across my chest and waist, beginning to shield me. "And get your hands off my daughter, _now!_" Dad suddenly grabbed my arm, yanking me to his side as I gasped in pain.

"Don't you _dare_ hurt her," Jackson hissed venomously, his eyes narrowing at my dad. Although my dad was a few inches taller, Jackson seemed unfazed by my dad's larger size as he suddenly stood nose-to-nose with him. This was going to get ugly.

"As if you're one to talk!" Dad argued back. "You've done nothing _but_ hurt her since day one!"

"Dad! That's not true! Let go of me." I tried pulling my arm out of his grasp, but his fingers curled around my arm like a batter's hands around a Louisville Slugger.

"I'm the reason your daughter's still alive!" Jackson retorted. His eyes blazed as he reached for me. Dad pushed me back farther, nearly causing me to lose my balance as my foot slid off the concrete and into the grass.

"I don't know what's going on between the two of you, but you _will not_ touch my daughter! Do you understand me?"

"That's not your decision to make, Joe."

My dad suddenly lurched forward, moving so close that his face pressed against Jackson's, glaring at him. "She is _my_ daughter, and we are in _my_ house, and _I_ say what does and doesn't happen! You _will not_ touch her!" His hand clamped harder around my arm, causing me to cry out.

"Dad!"

Jackson's eyes flicked worriedly towards me. "You're _hurting her_, Joe. _Let go_ of her." His words were nearly a growl.

Dad yanked me closer to him, and I felt my arm twist painfully. His wrath was now directed at me. "And you! What the hell do you think you're doing, Lisa!? Have you lost your mind? Don't you understand what he is?!?"

I tried twisting out of his grip. "It's not what you think it is, Dad. Now please, let go of my arm, you're hurting me!"

He suddenly grabbed both of my arms, shaking me slightly. "Do I have to _knock_ the sense into you, Leese!?!"

Jackson suddenly grabbed my dad's arm. "_Get off_ of her, Joe!"

"You touch me again, you miserable son of a bitch, and-"

_"For__ fuck's sake! She's __pregnant!"_ Jackson gave my dad an angry shove, breaking his vice-like grip on my arms. Dad fell back a few feet, and Jackson pulled me behind him, shielding me from my own father. I felt the color drain from my face as my brain began processing what Jackson had just said.

- - -

- - -

I think it was the desperation that had caused me to finally snap. Desperation, or anger. I kept watching Lisa wince every time Joe got another burst of adrenaline through his system and he squeezed her harder. I couldn't take it anymore. My mind kept replaying that God-awful week in Texas, when I thought she had gotten rid of the baby, and I imagined that loss suddenly becoming real if Joe got angry and careless enough. As unintentional as it might have been, I wasn't going to let it happen.

I shouldn't have blurted it out like that, but it was the only justification of defense that was running through my mind, at the time. It was Lisa's news to tell, not mine, and I senselessly robbed her of that right. That's why, after the few seconds of silence that followed, I let it happen. Even though I saw it coming, I didn't flinch.

Joe's fist connected with my cheek, the rain providing enough slickness to allow the momentum to carry it across to my nose, where I felt a hot explosion. I heard Lisa scream behind me as stars popped behind my eye.

Joe stood there, panting angrily, waiting for me to hit him back. I suddenly saw Lisa at my side, moving around to get a better look. Her hands flew to her face. I touched my upper lip gingerly, and the second that I felt the sticky liquid dripping from my nose, I knew what it was. I looked back to Joe, who still stood with his hands clenched into fists, the muscles on the side of his jaw twitching angrily. I simply nodded, looking down at the blood on my hand, then to Lisa, and back to Joe.

"Fair hit." And with that, Lisa guided me into the house, sobbing, while Joe remained outside in the rain.

-

-

-

His nose was bleeding so bad! A red welt in the shape of a fist had already formed on his cheek, and I could imagine the bruise that was going to pop up after the redness faded. Great. A big ugly bruise on his face for Thanksgiving.

"Move your hand, Jackson. Let me see." I tried reaching for his arm, but he turned out of reach. He was already pinching his nose and tilting his head back, which was good.

"I'm fine, Lisa. It's not the first time I've been punched in the face. Probably won't be the last time, either." He looked down at me, taking in my appearance. I probably looked like a mess. I was soaked, I knew my eyes were red from crying, and I had to have had mascara streaks down my cheeks. "Go upstairs and change into some dry clothes, Leese. You're going to start getting cold if you keep those clothes on."

"Yeah? And what if my dad decides to come in while I'm upstairs, huh?" He was still outside, for the moment, but who knew when he would decide to come back in? "He could just come in here, and finish what he started outside, and I won't be down here to stop him!" I felt the angry tears beginning to well up again, and within a few seconds, they spilled over.

Jackson let go of his nose and leaned over the sink, waiting for more blood to come pouring out. When it didn't, he turned on the faucet, washing the red liquid from his hands. "You think I can't take of myself, Lisa?" I gave him an incredulous look, gesturing to the blood he was washing down the sink. "Or that you could stop him if he decided to come after me? No, I deserved it, Lisa. Why do you think I didn't try to stop him?"

"You _deserved_ it!?" Was he insane? "You were trying to get him to calm down, and he _punched_ you! If anything, he owes you an apology!"

His face suddenly turned dead-serious. "Joe doesn't owe me _anything_." He reached for a paper towel, yanked one off of the roll, and ran it under the water before turning the faucet off. "I gave Joe my word that I was going to be a complete gentleman while I was in his house-"

"You were coming to my defense! How is that _not_ chivalrous!?"

"I _disrespected him_, Lisa!" He suddenly shouted. "Almost kissing his daughter in front of him, blurting out that I got her pregnant, and then shoving him during an argument ... that doesn't constitute chivalry!"

I couldn't take it anymore. He was being unreasonable, and I wasn't going to stand around and argue that point with him.

-

-

-

I almost had my nose cleaned up when the front door slammed. I turned slightly, watching as Joe stood, dripping wet, holding the grocery bags. He glared at me, anger burning behind his eyes. Without another word, he set the bags on the counter, snatching the canned goods out of them, and began putting them away.

I looked at the folded paper towel in my hands, stained red with the last of the blood that I had wiped off. I waited patiently for Joe to finish putting away the groceries, not making a sound, but after a few moments, there was nothing left to put away. Joe closed the pantry door and stood with his hands at his sides. His fists clenched as he slowly walked to the opposite side of the kitchen island.

"Sit down, Jackson."

I threw away the bloody paper towel as he seated himself, then followed his order, and sat across from him, folding my hands on the counter in front of me, as he did the same. He took a deep breath and blew it out, doing his best to calm his nerves. I had to give him credit for that. He was at least in better control of himself than he was outside. He took another breath and lowered his voice until it was almost a whisper.

"I'm going to be completely and brutally honest with you, Jackson. And I'm going to require that you do the same with me. Do you understand?" His voice was low and even, and I nodded. "I want the gospel truth from you for every question that I ask. Afterward, I'm going to do the same with Lisa, and you're not going to be present while I question her, understood?"

I narrowed my eyes slightly, feeling the beginnings of panic building in my stomach. He had been so angry earlier, and had taken it out on Lisa, too. "You're not going to hurt her again?" Joe shook his head. "Understood, then."

Joe sat back, running his hand through his wet hair, before leaning forward again and fixing his eyes on mine. It was unnerving, but I held his gaze unwaveringly. "Is Lisa honestly pregnant? Or were you just saying that to get me to let go of her?"

"She's three months pregnant, Joe." I watched him wince and turn his face away, nearly looking as if he'd cry. His voice was strained when he spoke again.

"And the- ... the father?"

I swallowed as quietly as I could. "Me."

"How many times?" he finally asked. He turned to look at me, his jaw set in a hard line. I gave him a questioning look. "How many times have you fucked my daughter?" he clarified brusquely. I considered a sarcastic comment along the lines of 'not as many as I would have liked', but now wasn't the time for cheap shots.

"Not many. And I've never forced her," I replied evenly, knowing he was going to ask that somewhere along the lines. Joe turned his face away, but not before I saw the muscles twitching along his jaw.

He seemed to lose the little self-composure he had remaining, and I heard a sob. It wasn't comforting or reassuring. "Do you have any idea what you've put her through? What you've put this family through? What you're _going_ to be putting us through?"

"With crystal clarity."

His head snapped up. "And yet, you stole her away and got her pregnant anyway!" He wiped his eyes on his sleeves. I wasn't very comfortable with seeing a full-grown man, one old enough to be my father, crying. When he calmed down, I responded.

"My ... ex-associates ..." I tried to think of how to word it while causing as little additional grief as possible. Might as well just leave all the cards out as they were. "I was tipped off that there was going to be a hit. When I heard who the target was, I went over to Lisa's apartment as fast as I could. I tried to get her to come with me, but she didn't want to leave. She wanted to call the cops on me, she was screaming that she didn't want me anywhere near her, she wanted me out of her apartment, and then-" I paused, remembering with frightening clarity how quickly things had escalated. "I barely had enough time to throw her down on the ground. For a moment, I didn't think we would make it out alive."

I could still see the huge bullet holes popping through her walls, shattering glass and sending furniture interiors up in puffs of upholstery stuffing and feathers. Hell, I think they even had the balls to use the big rounds. "I wasn't going to let them murder her," I mumbled. Joe gave me a disbelieving look. "Something about her was different, and I couldn't let them snuff that out." Okay, 'snuff' was a bad word choice.

"And I'm supposed to believe that she just went right along with it all and somehow ended up pregnant? Wait, let me guess ... you were both drunk and looking to each other for comfort?" The sarcasm in his voice made me grit my teeth.

"When does your daughter ever 'just go along with' something she doesn't want to do?" I asked, feeling my lips turn upward in a smirk. Joe's did as well, and I had a feeling he knew all too well what I was talking about. "No, she fought me tooth and nail for the longest time. Even when we were getting along, we were fighting about one thing or another. I think the near-death experiences we encountered helped her see my side of things, though. It gets a little tough to dispute the fact that you should be running from people trying to kill you when you see that they're _actually_ trying to kill you."

"Have there been any ... recent attempts?" Joe asked quietly.

I shook my head. "No. I've been better at keeping us low on the radar. I think something bigger came down the pipeline for them, though. Something that's requiring more of their time and resources. Either we're getting better at hiding, or they're sending fewer people after us. I think the ones that are being sent, though, aren't out for blood."

"What do you think they're doing, then?"

I scratched the side of my face, wincing as my fingers touched the soon-to-be-bruised area. "I think they're doing recon. I slipped up a few weeks ago and had us out in the open, right for the guy to see," I admitted, feeling the guilt trickle down my chest as I said it. "We got out of there pretty quickly, but he didn't try for a shot. He just watched us. That's why I think something else is brewing within the company."

"That still doesn't answer my other question," Joe replied softly. I gazed at him quizzically. "You haven't told me how she got pregnant."

"You sure you want the God's honest truth in its entirety?" I asked carefully, hoping he would say no, but knowing he wouldn't.

"I require it."

I sighed, averting my eyes, knowing that Lisa would kill me later on for telling him. I cleared my throat lightly. "In the back of a Chevy Silverado Extended Cab, pulled off along Route 27 in Kansas, somewhere next to a wheat field, back in August. I'll leave the details up to your imagination."

I watched Joe's fingers clench until the knuckles turned white. He glared at me with blood-shot eyes.

"And if you want the absolute truth, that was the _only_ time I didn't use protection with her." Joe's jaw clenched. "From then, on ... we were safe. It was just ..." God, this was making _me_ uncomfortable. Even _I_ could see how stupid I had been. "It was just that one time."

"And you didn't think anything would happen? You thought you'd be in the clear?" Joe hissed.

"I didn't think I'd ever get the chance to _be_ with Lisa, to be quite honest," I replied, my voice just as low, just as cutting. I narrowed my eyes. "I wasn't going to let that opportunity pass me by, however stupid it was for me to go along with the decision." He opened his mouth to interject, but I continued. "We made a choice Joe, and for better or worse in your eyes, we're making a responsible decision _now_."

I watched the muscles in his jaw clench again, and I could swear I heard his teeth clench. I definitely heard the curses he muttered under his breath. Especially the one about me being a miserable fucking bastard. I sighed, leaning back in the bar chair, before speaking again.

"Look ... Joe-" I moved forward, leaning against my elbows and locking my fingers together. "I know ... that this isn't what you expected. I know you never dreamed that this would be a conversation that you'd be having. And I'm sorry that I've screwed up whatever plans you had for Lisa's life-"

"Don't you _dare_ suspect me of trying to run my daughter's-"

"Don't insult me by acting like you don't wish she had married some corporate businessman and moved in with him into some ritzy neighborhood before settling down and having honor roll kids." I glared straight at him. "I know you wanted better for her, Joe. I _know_. Instead, you got-" I gestured to myself, knowing that I fell unimaginably short of his standards, "you got _me_. You got a death dealer that took off with your little girl, got her knocked up, and brings her back just in time to ruin your Thanksgiving." Joe didn't object. "And for that, I'm sorry. I wish things could've happened in a more timely manner, but I don't regret a _single moment of time_ that I spent with your daughter, or the way things turned out."

The older man sat silently across from me. He tapped his finger a few times against the counter, as if working out a tune in his head. He nodded absently, before looking down away from the stove and back at the counter. "You _swear_ to me ... swear that you never raped her."

My eyes shot up to Joe's face. We locked eyes. "I _swear_ on my child's life, Joe. On _your grandchild's_ life."

That made him stop tapping. He looked away, his eyes gazing distantly. He fumbled over the words. "My gran- ... my- ... my grandchild?"

I watched as the realization began to seep into his features. His daughter, his beautiful Lisa ... his only child, was having a child of her own ... _his grandchild_. His flesh and blood. He was going to be a grandfather. He'd hold his daughter's child for the first time, in a matter of months. He'd be able to recall the light weight of a helpless, tiny infant writhing in his arms. He'd remember the sound of the squealing cry produced by small lungs and a smaller mouth. He'd remember what it was like when that was Lisa.

I nodded, feeling a smirk coming on. "Yeah, Joe. Your grandchild." The smirk arrived. "I've been calling it Peanut for the past few weeks. Drives Leese absolutely batshit."

Joe finally let out a short laugh. He tapped the counter a few more times before standing. "You wait here."

-

-

-

"Go ... away ..."

I knew the sound of my dad's knock. And as happy as I should have been to know that it was my dad on the other side of the door, I couldn't bring myself to find any joy in it. I knew he had either come to apologize for making a scene, or to tell me that he had just twisted Jackson's head straight off his shoulders and chopped it into manageable pieces before shoving it down the garbage disposal.

"I'm coming in, whether you like it or not, honey."

And so he did.

I flipped onto my left side, facing away from the door, hating the wetness on my pillow from my tears and my soaked hair. Luckily, I had taken Jackson's advice and changed into dryer clothes.

The door clicked shut, and a few moments later, the mattress dipped under my dad's weight. I felt his hand pat my thigh.

"We need to talk, pumpkin."

"Why? So you can tell me how stupid I am?" I sniffled. "Or maybe to threaten me some more?" I heard a heavy sigh behind me.

"Lisa, would you just _look_ at me when I'm talking to you?"

I sat up, pulling my legs in so that I sat Indian style, and rubbed my face tiredly. It was only shortly after 2 p.m., and I already felt like the day had drained me. "What do you want, Dad? Look, if it's too much trouble for us to be here, then we-"

"Lisa Reisert." I stopped. I watched as my dad fumbled with his hands in his lap, before turning and giving me a wispy smile. "Look at you." He touched my hair, fingering the wet strands. " You know, I remember when you were little ... you wouldn't go to bed until I helped you arrange all of your stuffed animals and checked under your bed for monsters." I rolled my eyes, trying not to laugh at the memory. "And you wouldn't ride your bike up and down the street unless I stood outside and watched you. Now, you're so ... so damned independent!" His words came out choked before turning into a hoarse laugh. "And blonde!" I felt my body shake with a few short bursts of laughter as I wiped my eyes.

"I know ... who'd have thought, right? A blonde bob never would've been my style, but, hey ... desperate times call for desperate measure." I smiled at a memory. "You should've seen Jackson's face when he first saw it. He told me that we needed to change our appearance, but ... I don't think he was expecting this at all. I even cut it and colored it myself."

Dad nodded, giving a half-smile. "I like it. It's ... different, but ... I like it."

I knew there was a pending interrogation. "I know you didn't come up here just to talk about my hair, Dad."

"No. No, you're right. I didn't." He fumbled with his hands again. "I ... I talked to Jackson. I asked him some things, and I told him I was going to ask you some things, too. From what I could tell, he was honest with me. To the point of embarrassment and discomfort. I want you to be honest with me, too."

"Not to the point of embarrassment and discomfort, I hope?"

"It depends."

I nodded, looking at the wrinkles in my blanket. "I guess it's your move, then." There was a moment of silence.

"Are you okay?" I looked up sharply. "Did he hurt you?" I felt a brief moment of panic as I thought of that night in the desert, in Battle Mountain, Nevada. The place had lived up to its name, that was for sure. We had come to an unspoken truce after we had nearly killed each other.

"What do you mean?" I asked hesitantly.

"Did he-" he choked on his words again, as if he couldn't bring himself to say it. "Did he ... rape you?"

My throat clenched at the things I had hidden from my dad. So many things. The fight I got into at field hockey practice and nearly been kicked off the team, the after-prom party at a friend's house when I ended up drunk and puking before midnight, the abusive (short-lived) ex-boyfriend that had a bad coke habit - that I kicked out ... so many things. But not the rape in the parking lot. That had been unable to be kept a secret. Luckily, I could give my dad this little peace of mind, however small it may be.

"No, Dad. He didn't." I struggled to keep myself from placing any extra emphasis on _he_. No, Jackson hadn't forced me. I had been an all too willing accomplice in certain aspects surrounding him. "He's not like- ... it wasn't like _before_." He nodded, and I knew that he understood that I meant the time that I _had_ been raped.

"But you're ... are you still ..." he gestured toward me halfheartedly. "Is it true? What he said?"

I winced, thinking of Jackson's admission in the driveway. "Pregnant?" I offered. He nodded. I couldn't help the tears that stung my eyes, knowing he was going to be disappointed in me. "Ye-...yeah." I gave a sob, wrapping my arms around myself, before lowering my head. The tears ran heavy again, slipping down my face in warm, salty rivulets. I had never been as ashamed of myself as I was right at that moment.

I wasn't ashamed that I was pregnant. No, that ... that feeling passed after the unholy hour and a half in the room at the abortion clinic in California, where I had made up my mind that I couldn't kill my baby. Jackson's baby. _Our baby_. I wasn't going to be ashamed of something that, by all rights, should be considered a blessing.

And then I had inadvertently put him through a week of hell. He had barged past the staff and burst into the room as the doctor was leaving and I was getting dressed. The look on his face ... I wanted to reach out and wrap my arms around him, tell him everything would be okay. I was so disgusted with myself that I just pleaded for him to take me back to the campsite we were staying at ... I was so concerned with my own personal shame that I hadn't even thought to tell him that I didn't terminate the pregnancy. He and I didn't say much over the next few days, we just spoke when necessary and moved from place to place. The miles and days slipped by like sand through a sieve, until one day -- a particularly quiet one for him, even given the circumstances -- while walking through the parking lot of a gas station in Texas, I stopped him. I remember grabbing his arm, causing him to stop and turn to face me. He just stared at me, with eyes that had become hollow and lifeless, waiting with a passive indifference for whatever I had to tell him.

I had said it quietly, without preamble as silent tears spilled down my cheeks. I couldn't bring myself to get rid of the baby, I just _couldn't_ do it. I was still pregnant. His facial expression had changed slowly, his eyes still watching me, waiting for me to tell him it was just a sick joke. And then, after a few moments had passed, and I didn't say anything else, I watched his eyes close, heard the rush of breath escape his lungs, and then felt him pull me into a hug. I think that was probably my favorite hug I've received from him so far. He just wrapped his arms around my shoulders, pulled me close, and held me. He rested his cheek against the side of my head for a few moments, before pressing his face into my neck. He'd only said one word. _Lisa._

I felt a sudden shock as my dad pulled me into a hug of his own. "I'm- ... I'm th-three an' a ... half ... m-months!" I sobbed. "God, Daddy, I'm so ...sor-" my voice caught as another sob bubbled up. "-m so _sorry!_" In a few moments, I would be a hysterical, crying mess. My face was hot with shame and tears. "I screwed up, an' I'm sorry!" I pulled back and wiped at my cheeks, knowing new tears would replace the ones I had just wiped away. I refused to look at him. "I didn't mean to get pr-pregnant, an' I know I should've known better, and I- ... I _do_ know better, b-but I just-" I gasped for air as hysteria started to overtake me. "I know you must be so mad at ... at m-m-me!" I dissolved into another round of gasping sobs.

"Shh ... Lisa, honey ... come on, just calm down ... take deep breaths, c'mon honey ..." I felt my dad's hand on my back, rubbing slow circles as I continued to give hiccuping sobs.

"I was supposed to do something ... something different with my- my life, and instead, I go an'-" I paused, sucking in another breath. "I can't even feel _disappointed_ with the path I chose! You gave me _everything_, and I go and do this, and the only thing I can even manage to feel sorry about is how I ... how I let you down! How I disappointed you!"

His hands wiped at my face, rubbing the wetness off my cheeks. He placed his hands on either side of my face, forcing me to look up at him. "Now you listen to me, Lisa Reisert," his tone commanded authority, a trait achieved by being an Army Ranger who served two tours of duty in Vietnam. "I have seen you do a lot of things since I've been your father. A _lot_ of things. Some things were good, some were great. Some, I wished you hadn't done." I felt my tears starting to subside, and I struggled to get my breathing under control. "That does _not_ mean that I don't still love you. You're my daughter. Everything you've ever done has made me proud. I've never been ashamed of you, nor been disappointed by you. You have _always_ weathered any test that I've given you, and come out stronger for it." His eyes were fierce, and held no hint of judgment. "Now ... while I may not currently understand the situation, nor be completely thrilled with what happened, at the end of the day, you're still my daughter, and I've raised you to know how to choose between right and wrong."

"Then how can you say-"

"I'm not finished," he said, holding up a hand. "I raised you to know how to choose between right and wrong. And although it hurt my heart to have to watch you make mistakes and fail, I knew that I couldn't just jump right in to save the day whenever things got tough for you, because if I did, you'd take nothing away from it. And now, here you are, a grown woman, fully capable of making her own decisions, with a good head on her shoulders, and a bigger heart than anyone I know. Whatever your reasoning was behind making the choices you made, you made them and you stuck by them. And when you make tough decisions and stand by them in the face of opposition ... _how could I possibly__ be let down or disappointed?_ You've done what I've _raised you_ to do." Conviction rang in his words. "And if the end result is that I get to spend Thanksgiving with my daughter, and she tells me that I've got a grandbaby due in about six months, _how_ could I not find any joy in that?"

I shoved his hands away and leaped forward, throwing my arms around his neck. I'm home for Thanksgiving, I'm going to be a mother, and my dad is happy about getting to be a grandfather. How could _I_ not find any joy in _that_?

"So you didn't chop Jackson up into little pieces and shove them down the garbage disposal?"

My dad barked out a laugh and gave me an extra squeeze. "I didn't say _that_."

-

-

-

What seemed like hours later, but was actually only about an hour and a half, Lisa walked downstairs, her face pale and her eyes puffy. She had been crying. I instantly sat straight up in my seat.

"Lisa? He didn't ... he didn't hurt you?" It was more of a plea than a question.

She shook her head and sniffled, before wrapping her hands around my arm and resting her head against my shoulder. "No, I'm fine. Emotional ... but fine." She paused, looking up at me. "Me an' him talked for a while, that's all. I started bawling a few times when I was telling stories about what we've been up to, but ... I think I'm okay now. For the most part."

I gave her a cautiously hopeful glance. "So ... no unfathomable rift between the two of you?"

She shook her head. "No blood vendettas between the two of you?" she asked in the same tone.

I cracked a smile and shook my own head. "Nah. I was just told how stupid I was -- in so many words -- for not using a condom our first time, after _admitting_ that it was a stupid move on my part." I looked down at the pattern in the countertop. "All in all, though, I'd say he and I have come to an understanding. I don't understand the intricacies of the understanding, but ... it'll work its way out in time, I suppose."

Lisa gave a small laugh. "Yeah ... I think he's coming to terms with the fact that you're going to be an unavoidable part of his life, now." She pulled me out of the chair and led me to the living room. "I don't think he particularly likes that fact, but he's coming to terms with it." She sat on the couch, and I followed her, glad that my clothes had managed to dry a bit since my conversation with her father in the kitchen.

"And where's Joe at now? Is he hiding around a corner, waiting to ambush me at his first opportunity?" I was only half-joking, unfortunately. "He didn't come downstairs with you." She shrugged and curled up against me, in a way that was so feminine and adorable that I had no choice but to lean against the arm of the couch and pull her against me.

"He went to his room. I assume that he's laying down; this has been a lot for him to take in today." Her words were becoming softer as drowsiness kicked in. "And the day's not even over, yet." A soft yawn escaped her. Damn it all, I was starting to feel tired, too. That shit was contagious.

"Not here, Leese." I sat both of us up, hearing her groan. "If you're going to sleep, you're sleeping in a real bed, with a mattress, blankets, and pillows ... the whole nine yards. Not here, on a couch."

"You just don't want me drooling on you. Wimp."

I pulled her up from the cushions and led her upstairs, to her room. She pushed the door open quietly, sat on her bed, and began pulling off her socks while I pulled the covers down. When she laid back on the cool sheets, I pulled the blankets up and tucked them in around her, before placing a kiss on her forehead.

"Mmm ... getting in some practice, huh?" she asked. "Tucking in, and giving a goodnight kiss ... you know, all that stuff a dad's supposed to do to put his kid to bed?" Her tone was teasing.

"If we're role-playing, this is the part where I tell you to go to sleep and follow that with a light, empty threat, right?" My words were rhetorical, and Lisa only yawned in response. I stood and moved to the door. "Sleep tight, Leese." I shut it behind me.


End file.
